Being you
by Mary Zrw2800
Summary: Be careful with desires, especially when it comes to Christmas. It doesn't matter whether a person believes in magic or not, whether it is a lone killer or an eminent forensic scientist - sometimes miracles still happen.
1. Chapter 1

Another day in Temperance Brennan's life was coming to the end. But this day differed from the others. It was Christmas Eve - the night before a magical celebration, full of joy, happiness and smiles. And it was tended to spend it amidst close people, friends and folks. So, the team from Jeffersonian Anthropology Unit decided to gather in their favorite nice place called "the Founding Fathers", where they were used to celebrate something special.

"And let everything be as we want!" Hodgins said solemnly, getting up from his seat, holding a glass filled with expensive champagne; "Here's to us!"

"To us!" repeated the rest.

The hall became loud, sinking in laugher and ludicrous anecdotes. It began to snow outside, large white flakes were falling from the almost night sky to the wet asphalt, but there was no wind, so the weather could be called truly wonderful, match for the upcoming holiday.

"How's amazing to meet here. Not frequently, unfortunately, but soulful. Isn't it?" Angela said to Brennan and smiled. They leaved their company just for a while and stood next to the bar to talk tête-à-tête, without excess men ears.

"I suppose, you're right. Although, usually I don't prefer all this turmoil," she answered and touched her glass; "Do you still believe in magic?"

"Partly. Actually, it's so breathtaking to believe in something unexplainable and desirable. For instance, I adored Santa in my childhood, so now Jack and I try to do our best to make Michel-Vincent believe in magic, too. And what about you? Oh, wait, let me guess: you're saying something scientific and super clever."

"You'll be surprised, but no, I am not. I did believe, except that, at a very young age," she shrugged; "When our fantasy plays to the fullest and we all want to live in our own different world. And later I understood there're no miracles. Everything is explainable, one way or another, and that one that humanity can't realize doesn't mean it's impossible to find out. But Booth is on the contrary," she grinned and looked at her favorite man who was sitting with a Santa's hat and telling hilarious stories everyone who would listen him; "You know, sometimes he still reminds me a child."

"All men are like this, darling," her friend agreed; "Most of them. They don't miss the chance to be kids again, but maybe it's good. Face it, they make our lives brighter. Besides, they're clear like opened book and you always know what you should expect."

"Then I suggest we drink to men," Brennan lightly hit her glass about Angela's and took a sip; "Not to everyone, of course, but only to those who deserve it."

"Listen," Montenegro continued, pushing her to the side gently; "Do not consider my question stupid, because it's not even mine, I saw it in the Internet."

"Do you understand that after these words I'm subconsciously going to count it stupid?"

She got confused for a few seconds, but then she asked:

"What would you wish if you knew it would come true, but only for three days?"

"Three days?" 'Bones' laughed; "It's silly, sorry. But okay, let me think."

Good booze and relaxing atmosphere melted the ice dome of her heart, and she decided to continue the conversation, not to change the subject, previously having commented on such a ludicrous naivety.

"So, I have no borders for my desire, correct?"

"Yes. Except time."

"And everything will disappear after?"

"Exactly. But life is going on, and people will remember about it."

Temperance frowned, musing, and bit her bottom lip. She was looking somewhere deep into the polished bar rack, but suddenly began to smile mysteriously:

"Just promise me you won't count me crazy," it was look like she finally found what to answer; "You may laugh as long as you want."

"Okaaay," Angela came closer, burning in curiosity; "Go on. I swear."

"In general... No, forget, it's absurd," she waved her hand and chortled.

"Please, I'm begging you! You know me, you can fully rely on me."

"I wish I..." Brennan sighed, slapped on the table with her palm and dropped her eyes. She got to regret it, but now she has no choice but to finish the sentence; "I wish I would like to be Pelant for a while."

Montenegro started coughing because of amaze, having choked with air. It took her breath away. But she tried to concentrate and could ask why she wants to morph into the psycho.

"For scientific purposes only, surely," Temperance felt herself trapped. She probably shouldn't have talk too much, it multiplied her concerns; "Although, I sincerely hate him, no criminal has seemed to me as interesting and strange as he yet. And there's no way to get to know someone better than to get into his head, but he doesn't let Sweets down to himself, he's afraid of him."

"He's a sick genius. And the focus is on both words at the same time. But you're absolutely right: we can't imagine what's happening into his mind. To be honest, I'm a bit scared to think about it. But I have to admit that in the event of the theoretical impossible success it would twist everything. In a good sense. He would stop being a pain in our necks."

"Just please, don't tell Booth, he might misunderstand me," 'Bones' smiled, forcing herself not to laugh, and turned back with kindness and caring into her bright eyes. And she caught his return glance on herself, so relaxed, but still confident, soothing.

"I won't let you down, sweetheart. I don't want him to suspect you in some strange interest in Pelant. So, here's to unreal dreams," Angela finished her speech, blinked and raised her glass again.

As a friend, she was glad to see that Brennan dared to share with her something so personal, even if it's a little odd. However, like the rest of the people, she - Temperance - had every right to dream about everything her soul would want, because there's a part of human happiness: the ability to dream, truly or superficially.

* * *

The spacious apartment with a very rich furnishings and high ceilings was filled with silence, diluted only with a quick and almost never-ending keyboard clicking. Christopher Pelant - the man who combined polo and elegant jacket on him - sat behind the desk and looked at the bank of video screens. As usually, he was browsing the Web, connecting to unsecured servers, inserting himself into phone conversations and reading peoples emails - he preferred to entertain himself this way, to spend his time left between his legal work and somebody's murders. He knew perfectly well about today's celebration, without Christmas trees, garlands and all this stuff, and he tried not to pay attention to it once again.

On the central monitor, the largest one, there was a broadcast from security cameras in "the Founding Fathers". There was no sound on the recording, but there also was absolutely no need for it, because only a complete fool wouldn't catch the atmosphere of joy, warmth, comfort and satisfaction reigned there. Pelant almost could hear all these disgusting happy voices, irritating laugher and smiles he hated.

He grabbed the bottle of Italian wine which had been standing in the kitchen cabinet for years and got its pleasant tartness. Having poured a glass and took a mouthful, Christopher quickly realized that it would affect him too much if he'd overdoes with the amount, but he didn't care about such things, he didn't want to think about next day, about everything. He was looking at Temperance without stopping, and his sight was going more and more turbid with every single sip. He drank seldom, and almost never he drank so much, but he couldn't restrict himself this time. And one insane thought has flown into his tipsy mind, a dream: to become Brennan at least for a while, to discover how it feels to be needed for someone. How it feels to know that you're respected, inspiriting, even despite your complicated personality. All Pelant's problems lied in his inward contradiction: he wanted to become normal at heart, to have friends and family, maybe, but besides, he stepped on his own toes and burned the bridges he built. He was a total recluse for living, a spoiled boy who's always used to get what he wants and make his sick fantasies come true, and it completely explained his behavior. It was difficult to judge Christopher for his ferocious deeds in the moral point of view, because his mind did really work a little back to front that was officially diagnosed, but it didn't diminish his danger for society.

But nothing stopped him from dreaming about something impossible and unbelievable on Christmas Eve. He had spent hours this way, staring at cold blinking monitors, until the bottle of vine got emptied by a third and its contents didn't cause pleasant relaxation throughout the body. And then he determined it would be better to finish and go to bed, naively believing that tomorrow it would be easier. Easier to accept reality.

* * *

In contrast to Christmas Eve, everybody stayed home in Christmas Day. Houses were decorated magnificently: mistletoe wreathes, wide ribbons, bows, golden bells - these traditional little things created the atmosphere of the holiday. The lights of the garlands blinked with different colors on the trees and facades, the thematic figures of deer and snowmen delighted everyone who gave a sight. And there was a soft light in each window, there were voices, smiles.

Booth donned a spiffy shirt, family cufflinks, and Brennan put on a dark-olive dress to the knees. Her hair was arranged with a volume at its roots, slightly curled locks fell on her shoulders covered with a cape.

The table was laid in accordance with traditions; a tall adorned Christmas-tree took its place in the corner of the living room. Beneath, in shiny and rustling packages, there were the gifts bought with all trepidation languished: a new car DVR for him and a fashionable scarf made of real silk - for her. The TV worked as a background, another New Year's film was played, but both Brennan and Booth were much more pleasant to enjoy each other's company and expensive semi-sweet wine. Temperance found herself thinking that she's imbued with the spirit of Christmas for the first time in many years, just like in her childhood. She looked at Seeley with loving, enchanted eyes, and understood she wouldn't be able to live her life without him, that she needs him. And she knew: now he was feeling the same.

* * *

Pelant wasn't used to associate the main winter's celebration with something good. For him, this day doesn't separate from the others - he consoled himself, anyway. But there was still nasty within his soul, and it made him mad that he couldn't get rid of it. He couldn't even find any distractions: banners, reminders and advertisements like: "Don't forget to buy presents! Make your folks happy!" chased him everywhere. Besides, he felt himself surprisingly briskly after yesterday. Due to the fact he used alcohol hardly ever, his pancreas and liver founded a fantastic alliance to avoid the worst consequences, and, to be honest, it was hard to count a third of the bottle a dangerous dose. It was look like a warming up. Unfortunately. Because Christopher had hoped that maybe sickness would force him to switch. But there was an exit, quite obvious: to drink more. The idea enlightened him late afternoon, when he has spent all day doing absolutely nothing, and he found it so perfect that the bottle of wine got emptied up to a quarter by midnight, and alcohol affected his mind so hard that it has become impossible to control the situation.

From now on, there were no plans surfaced, instead some surrealistic pictures, similar to true dreams. Persons, emotions, words - all mixed up in one strong knot which wasn't possible to unravel. Pelant reached his bed, trying not to stumble upon something and not to break his head critically about the corner - everything was cloudy in front of his eyes.

But despite all this mess inside his head, he suddenly recalled his fugitive desire to become another person for a little, in the literal sense. To morph into somebody else, to change personality, keeping his own mind. To go beyond the impossible, in other words. He fell asleep with these thoughts.

* * *

Brennan felt like her skin was burning when the strong, sturdy body lowered on her. Her cheeks were blazing, the grey eyes couldn't stop astonishing these wide shoulders, these muscles, even the scars. They were a bitter reminder of the cruelty of war, of its stupidity and tragedy, but they also emphasized the resilience and bravery that Booth had a lot. Seeley covered her softly, carefully, pitting their foreheads against each other, and then connected their lips in a passionate kiss. He was contouring every bend of her naked frame with his hands and wondering how did he deserve this happiness, why did she choose him amidst the rest.

"Hey," she distanced herself reluctantly and hugged his face with her palms to make him focus on her; "Have you made a wish?"

Booth was so unwilling to talk, that he didn't switch instantly. With a heavy sigh, suffering from impatience, he had to held himself:

"Yes, I have," he smiled and leaned so close that she could recognize all the depth of his charming eyes; "And I can advise you to do the same, if you haven't done it already. It's about midnight."

"I don't believe in magic, you're informed," Brennan touched his back. She almost whispered it and gazed at him in uncertainty: she wanted him to begin to pursue her, but at the same time she wasn't going to change her mind. Seeley felt as she bended her knees much more and threw her legs over his lumber, having crossed her ankles.

"But you won't loose anything if you try."

She was up to answer, but Seeley interrupted her with another kiss, displaying perfectly clear that he's done with discussions. And then, before to gave herself fully to him, Temperance listened to his words and and repeated the desire inwardly one more time. She didn't hope for a miracle, of course, but it got warmer within when she gingerly believed just for a moment in something nonexistent, without asking for proofs.

* * *

Pelant woke up after a deep sleep because of feeling that someone's lips have touched his cheek. He smiled satisfied and murmured something indistinctly: in his interrupted dreams he was being kissed by Temperance Brennan. Talking ahead, he felt a light weakness and willing to stay in the bed instead of a headache and an unbearable drought. But he excused it: probably, he hasn't fully recovered yet.

"Good morning, darling," there was a low men voice that made Christopher shudder in horror and open his eyes: Boоth was standing above him, holding a tray with the cup of coffee, and he was smiling kindly.

The criminal noticed he wasn't being at his home. But he had already seen this room before... It was easy to recall: Booth's and Brennan's house, their bedroom. Pelant pulled in with fear and stared at the agent amazedly, not moving and still hoping that all this mix-up must be just a nightmare, a drunk nonsense. He stared doubting the quality of wine that he drained a lot yesterday, almost a full bottle.

But, unfortunately, these thoughts disappeared quickly. Seeley was putting the tray down, when Pelant twitched carelessly, because of what a hot coffee spilled on his hands, having caused extremely painful burning.

And he didn't wake up...

He hissed, shouted and removed his hand automatically, putting it over his mouth: his voice. It was... female. Not only female, but so damn similar to Temperance's.

"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry," Booth hurried to apologize, moving the tray aside. He felt himself extremely ashamed and confused, as he didn't realize such a strange reaction from the woman he loved. Especially, taking into account their magnificent last night.

Pelant didn't say a thing, he just sighed, having forced himself to smile, although his smirk was look like a fake grin, and dropped his eyes, still striving to find a logical explanation of what's going on. However, it was hard to find an adequate interpretation of the presence of such a large breast in the male. He bulged his eyes, staring intently at the so-called man of his life.

"Wait a second ... " the only phrase he could squeeze out of himself, trying with all his might not to scream at the top of his lungs.

He flew out of bed and rushed to the bathroom full-speed, ignoring any questions from bewildered Seeley, closed the door, locked it frantically and stood before a mirror: Brennan looked at him in all her glory: beautiful, slim, with dark hair to the shoulders. With only one light nightgown on her body to the middle of the thigh. The mouth was opened in terror, and wide gray eyes viewed with horror through the reflection.

"Impossible ..." he whispered, touching the face and the body fearfully.

Then he suddenly felt something that he hadn't experienced all his conscious life - warm tears on his cheeks. And he got afraid of it: he couldn't control this inner hysteria. Despite his consciousness was completely preserved, for some reason the female body hasn't obeyed him, and tears began to drip down into a velvet mat near the sink, washing away the makeup left from yesterday, and his voice began to break in desperate cries, so he could only shut the mouth with his hand, rougher this time, knelt onto the floor and force himself to breathe as deeply as he could, just to calm down.

* * *

Temperance opened her eyes and stretched out lazily in the bed. Being encompassed by unforgettable memories from yesterday, today she was waiting for the same. But morning, contrary to her expectations, turned out completely different.

Her head ached wildly, came apart at the seams, and her throat was so dry that she couldn't say a sound. It felt as if she had drunk a few liters of disgusting cheap booze in one gulp yesterday without even snacking. Touching her cheek, she suddenly gasped, frightened by the incomprehensible feeling of stubble on her face, and looked at the palms - these hands, rough, male hands, didn't belong to her. It took a few seconds to get extremely nervous, almost panicking.

Brennan jumped out of bed and grabbed the wall at first: she was wobbly and about to loose her balance. Turning around feverishly, not recognizing anything, she frightened more every second: she woke up in someone else's house, in someone else's bed, moreover she was all alone, which couldn't but lead to final horror in itself:

"Booth..." as the voice appeared, she screamed, shutting her mouth: she knew perfectly well who was the owner of such a pleasant timbre, however, she aspired to the last that everything was some kind of misunderstanding or even a dream. A sort of nightmare, caused by recent obsessive thoughts.

She took a look down to the floor, and barely kept herself on her feet, not fainting: the body clearly didn't belong to her. Moreover, the body clearly didn't belong to any woman, which could be judged with confidence by the characteristic narrowness of the hips, the absence of mammary glands, and also by the presence of another distinctive organ, which was extremely indecent to talk about.

Brennan didn't navigate in an unfamiliar house at all, as she was rushing back and forth along the huge estate, peeked into every room to find a mirror, anything she could look in, and the result didn't make her wait for long. Having turned across the shoulder, she saw Pelant with his eyes wide opened, with his hair disheveled after sleep. And she was like got frozen: everything was falling apart within so hard that a mental pain was almost morphing into a physical one, but she couldn't do anything. Neither to shout, nor to cry, - she could only gawk at the reflection of him... of herself. And muscles were like bound, and the face didn't show any emotions, except that terrible composure with a hint of anger.

However, the feelings were so strong that the organism couldn't cope with them: the stomach suddenly twisted, an unbearable nausea rose to the throat. Temperance only had time to step into the bathroom and bend over the toilet, before she throw up either on nervous soil or from yesterday's drinking.


	2. Chapter 2

Pelant flinched and shivered when Booth knocked and questioned delicately about is everything alright. He replied that he's fine and asked him to wait downstairs for a little, until he got his act together. Fortunately, he understood by then that he's required to look calm and ease, until he comes up with what to do next. Subconsciously, he was afraid to incriminate himself, but he realized at the same time it was unreal: who would have believed that he moved into the body of Temperance Brennan in some incredible way.

Is it all because of a single desire wished when he was drunk? After all, there is no magic in the world, events are somehow explained by science, and why, then, his other desires didn't come true?

But something made Christopher worry more than before: turns out, Brennan stood at his place, woke up in the house that he has counted his confidential den, all alone with all his secrets and other illicit things she shouldn't see. Therefore, the sooner he finds a way to connect with "himself", the better it will be. But even here Seeley made problems by the fact of his existence. When he's at home — nothing will come. The criminal would easy quarrel with him, of course, but after it Brennan won't forgive him. But if they can arrive at a convergence of viewpoints and work collectively, this situation is able to bring them closer together. So it was important to operate deliberately. He didn't have an idea for how long has he stocked in the women's appearance.

Having washed his face with a cold water, he came into the kitchen, smiled as sincerely as he could, and sat at the table opposite the agent. There was dirty dishes in the sink and an empty bottle of wine near the trash can. And despite that a half of their supper remained intact, Booth decided to refresh the menu: he made pancakes with maple syrup, with berries and whipped cream. In contrast to Temperance, Pelant ate meat and did really liked it, so he hoped he would shortly comeback to his own body. However, he had to admit that Seeley cooked perfectly. So perfectly that Christopher ate five pancakes in a row — old man's habit — and figured out that new stomach wasn't impressed by this.

Booth was trying not to focus on the lady of his heart who ate more than ever and was just asking her something like: "How was your sleep?" "How are you?" and so on. The criminal understood quickly that he had to keep a conversation going, but it was quite difficult to engage the dialogue when every word could be a landmine. He asked a few oncoming questions and was nodding, agreeing with everything.

"So, did you make a wish?" Booth was suffering because of the curiosity.

Honestly speaking, the agent hasn't pacified yet and was still looking for his darling closely. He was absolutely bothered by her behavior this morning. Right after she woke up her gaze was full of confusion and terror. It even seemed to him that she was crying there, in the bathroom. But on the other hand all of it could be explained by overabundance of emotions, plus female organism was more touching, and Bones wasn't an exception. Who knew what could happen. Maybe she was needed to throw out what she felt. But the most important things is that now she was smiling again, sitting opposite of him, and shrugging with a shade of inscrutability more than generally.

"It won't come true, anyway," Christopher answered in the manner peculiar to Brennan. It wasn't so hard to pretend her because they were largely similar; "so I don't think it makes sense."

It was hard to not to ask him about the wish, but how it would look like: Temperance is checking with Booth what did she tell him last night and did she tell something at all because it's not tended to share wishes.

Seeley smiled lightly and dropped his eyes.

"What are your plans for today?" he got more inspired than he was.

"Nothing, offer," Christopher has finished his breakfast and relaxed, became more confident, but he was still scared to death at heart by all of this devilry.

He didn't realize how did it happen, but a flirtatious gesture has slipped by itself: he brushed a loose strand of hair behind his ear,and smiled charmingly. He felt nausea immediately, but he has regretted saying goodbye to pancakes so he restricted himself. He couldn't control such a sudden action, he just felt he had to do it. And it was terrible: women's body was continuing to impose him some strange manners at the level of genetic memory, possibly.

Well, things were getting more complicated in every second. But the criminal understood without any doubt: he was needed to stay alone and connect with "himself". Sooner the better.

"What about to spend this day at home together?" answered Seeley; "We can finally take some rest because tomorrow, I'm sure, we'll be another new case. Unfortunately, murders have no holidays."

"Yeah", he bit on his bottom lip, thinking on an urgent basis how to make the agent go away for about half-an-hour.

"_What would Brennan do? What would Brennan do..."_

"Okay, but I need to go out for a while," an idea illuminated him: if he couldn't get rid of Booth, why not to go to his own home? It sounded better than a phone call.

It remained just a little: to think up in a couple of seconds, where it took him so urgently on the morning after Christmas, taking into account the fact most establishments didn't work today.

"Back to Jeffersonian again?" he asked and looked at 'Bones' sympathetically.

Pelant was so thankful inside since Seeley saved him from big troubles. Correctly speaking, not him but Temperance because exactly she would have to untangle everything he would spoil.

"Absolutely right. But it won't take long, I'm going to be back by three o'clock."

"That's oddly," the agent said, checking his phone; "No one from FBI called or texted me."

"It's my personal initiative," he stood up and was going upstairs, having picked up a cup of coffee; "You know, my brain abilities are higher when I'm working alone."

"Come on, is it necessary to do right now?"

Booth used to this and adopted anything, so he wasn't mad. In the name of his lovely woman he agreed with her habits and principles, even when they were playing against him. He realized that their work means another life to her, not worse than the one she spends next to him. And these both lives became an integral part of her soul. She learned to do without the personal one while she couldn't imagine herself without science.

"No, it's not, but time is ticking. And I'm not going to waste it until I "took some rest"," he showed a relevant gesture.

"Can I help somehow?"

"I don't think so," Pelant was getting hardly annoyed. He has always counted Booth obsessive a bit, and now he was getting on his nerves. And he started to doubt: should he keep this fake kindness or say him something nasty in order to make him get off.

As a result, Christopher turned away demonstratively and went upstairs to prepare for getting out into the world. He was frightened by guesses about who or what he could see in his own home. What if the opposite didn't happen and his body simply died or disappeared? What if someone opens the door to him, someone who claims that he's the real Pelant and there are no others in the world? He tried his best not to think about it, at least until he reached the threshold of the mansion.

* * *

"No way!" Brennan was repeating, standing behind a mirror, having got over the yesterday's effects. She rinsed her mouth and washed up.

It was blowing her head how did it happen. It completely contradicted science, common sense and rational thinking, crossed all the laws of physics and the rules of matter. And therefore, her brain refused to take what had happened as a fact, seeking other arguments diligently, which became more and more ridiculous and weak over time.

"No! No! No!" she was slamming herself, again and again, feeling a burning pain, but nothing had changed: she was still in Pelant's body.

Temperance fell on the knees and pulled dark hair. And everything inside got tied up anew, it began to tear apart, but it was impossible to scream or to cry. Nothing she could squeeze out except a quiet, painful and muffled moan. And then Brennan realized what it is — a real fear, more precisely, the form Christopher was capable of experiencing. Surprisingly: the body continued to respond to the personality of a mentally ill man, despite the fact that the soul had refreshed.

The _soul_ — something that Temperance never believed in and didn't intend to. She accepted only the fact of consciousness developed in humans, partly due to the cerebral cortex. But what is it, if not a soul that has invaded a foreign body? Consciousness didn't have similar properties: to move from one to another.

She stood up and stared at the mirror, resting his hands on the ceramic sink. Indeed, it was Pelant, and nothing else, but she suddenly recognized herself in these eyes. Not in the eyes, namely in the way they looked through the reflection. Here she was — the real Bones, her essence, her personality. And everything else was a shell that didn't belong to her a drop.

"Please, let it last for three days only!" she prayed mentally, exhausted from helplessness. She had no idea what to do next, how to get out of an unthinkable situation. Brennan stood in the bathroom for a while until she calmed down enough and began to reason in the right way: there was no point in thinking about the causes of the problem, it was necessary to solve it.

It suddenly dawned on the woman: since she, was in the body of Christopher, as she desired, then where is he? Everything inside her got cold: could it be even worse? Of course, it could if Booth wakes up in the same bed with the murderer and continues to think that this is the woman whom he loved to the narrow of his bones. In this case, Pelant will have no difficulty in destroying her relationship, her reputation, her whole life in the most perverted ways.

Temperance urgently needed a phone or at least something like it: to call her own number and find out what happens to her body. She walked around the house again, this time examining him enthusiastically. High ceilings, expensive wooden furniture, patterned parquet and first-class finish — obviously, someone didn't regret the money he had stolen for his own good. Having found the first-aid kit, the woman drank an anesthetic to stop her head from coming apart at the seams. And suddenly, having passed the bedroom and the wardrobe, she came across the room at the very end of a long corridor, and then she stopped at the threshold, even her mouth opened slightly in surprise: a spacious room appeared in front of her. Shelves slaughtered by literature were along the wall, and before all this there were wide computer screens, tightly composed into a single complex. They were all turned off. Below them, on the table, she saw the keyboard with speakers, and on the floor — the most powerful system unit.

Brennan was so petrified that she didn't reach outrage immediately: Pelant is forbidden by law to have any electronic devices, not to mention the fact that he definitely shouldn't have a second home ... in theory. Nevertheless, she became a direct witness to the opposite, which would allow her to collect so much dirt on him without the slightest effort that he wouldn't get away scot-free. She could make a video of a confession in all crimes, fix the fact of the presence of prints everywhere — so many ways to provide material evidence. However, it was early to celebrate, because if it would turn out that Christopher moved into her body instead, then now he also had enough trump cards in his sleeves.

Certainly, using such a multifunctional gadget, she could surely make a call, even set up a video call, that's just how she needed to run this whole computer and how to find the true program amidst hundreds.

Temperance walked over and ran a hand over a wide computer chair covered with real leather. She looked around again and found an old, bulky clock; they stood on one of the bookshelves and displayed it was around two in the afternoon. The woman got more stupefied: so much time had passed since the morning, so much could have happened without her knowing. It was frightfully to think with whom Booth ended up in the same house and how it affected him, in general, everything in her life.

Brennan sat down at the table and turned on the unit - it wasn't difficult to find the right button, the problem remained in the password, which she naturally didn't know. Morale instantly dragged down almost to zero, and for the umpteenth time the chest was trembled with pain and despair. But suddenly she was embraced by another feeling, some incredible instinct. She didn't know the right combination and she couldn't, but something inside told her to start with: "S". Then there was another sensation — the finger reached for the next symbol by itself, and so on up to the very end, until Temperance, fully mixed-up and confused, realized she could finally press the "enter" key. A moment of truth, and an enormous so-called Desktop appeared on the screens, covered with programs that didn't reach the limits of her knowledge. Moreover, live broadcasts of various CCTV cameras opened automatically on the side monitors, but 'Bones'' look was particularly fixated on one thing — she saw her bedroom from the most unexpected angle: from the electronic clock. It also turned out the signal was intercepted from those cameras Seeley had placed by himself. Christopher watched everything around the clock, including - Oh, God - their intimate life.

The woman lost the power of speech, she was badly indignant at what she saw. She wanted to find Pelant, even to pluck him from the ground and to slap him in such a way he won't forget. Offense and something like shame were shouting within her, although she had nothing to be ashamed of. Fists clenched themselves, and an unbearable desire appeared in her mind like a flashlight: to get the revenge, but then the doorbell rang. The distraction factor has worked — the feelings immediately changed to exciting. In fact, theese sharp mood swings were alien to Temperance , so she didn't expect this from Christopher. Or maybe it's not a genetic memory, it's only she who got psyched. But the reason for panic was weighty.

While she was walking toward the exit, there weren't just knocks in the door: someone was bursting into it wildly. Brennan languished in such a obsessive state so that not a single thought of possible danger rushed through her mind. Ready to throw everything into the face of anyone outside, she opened the locks, pulled the handle sharply and exclaimed, jumping back: she stood behind the threshold — Temperance Brennan herself — who was also screaming, getting arms around her head.

"Pelant?" Brennan was the first who broke the silence and got a grip. Actually, the body helped her with that, with suppressing emotions.

But Christopher encountered an opposite problem. He nodded, unable to squeeze a word out of himself, and realized that now he was about to cry again. He had never been so clearly frightened before as when he was knocking on the door and heard approaching footsteps. And then he saw himself from the side, he heard a voice, and this stupid female organism decided to outlet out the accumulated experience one more time. Worse, cold ran through his body because of the mere look at himself, at the level of someone else's subconscious; his guts seemed to shrink and his heart skipped a beat first, but then, in contrast, has beaten at an accelerated pace.

"How to stop it?" he asked, choking, without attaching any more explanations.

"So, keep calm, breathe," Temperance understood everything from his eyes, which were brilliant from the veil of tears, from trembling hands and fragile intonation. But she also knew: if she'd try to embrace him, she would provoke tantrum; "Come on, come inside. We will definitely figure out how to deal with it, I promise."


End file.
